


Carpenter Verse

by orange_8_hands



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Anorexia, Bisexual Dean, Carpenter Dean, Carpenter Emma, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Eating Disorders, F/F, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Food, Gen, Grey-Asexual Castiel, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Multi, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pesach | Passover, Professor Castiel, Self-Esteem Issues, Sex Is Clearly Tagged and Skippable, Teenage Parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 22:20:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 17,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4116886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orange_8_hands/pseuds/orange_8_hands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine Emma at six, at nine, at fifteen, at twenty-five, learning to build and then building with Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. making new friends (Emma, age 7)

**Author's Note:**

> This was a headcanon/fic combo I was sending to 8 and then [posted on tumblr](http://oranges8hands.tumblr.com/tagged/the-orange-carpenter-verse). Each chapter is a self-contained story or headcanon taking place in the verse. This is an AU/cherry-picked canon/heavily influenced by fanon verse (aka [Dead Dove: Do Not Eat](http://bold-sartorial-statement.tumblr.com/post/116521501448/a-proposal) tag), and is mostly just stuff that I like (including Uriel not dead or evil, crack ships I have legitimate feelings for, Dean being a good dad, etc.) Will be updated as it happens. Each chapter will have their own TWs. Covers teenage Dean to in her twenties Emma.
> 
> //Technically up to Ch9 is posted in a different order from the ones on my tumblr. Matches after that point.

  
Dean meets Pamela near the Kiddie Pick Up Lane (“It’s called a ‘Kiss and Ride,’” Mary tells him, like that is somehow a less embarrassing phrase) on a Thursday while they both wait for their daughters, having arrived early (at this point somewhat less usual for Dean as he tries to finish more of his workload before leaving, getting harder and harder as his business keeps increasing; incredibly unusual for Pamela, who is generally thirty minutes past the end of school on Thursdays because her client has horrible time management but a lot of money) and leaning against their cars as they wait, as 'cool parents’ do when they arrive too early to enter into the pick up/drop off lane for kids.   
  
(It wouldn’t occur to Emma to say the words “I love you but the level of embarrassment you consistently operate under will forever mean only I - the one who thinks pet rocks are fun - will ever think of you as a 'cool parent,’ though of course you will forever be a good one” even if she knew them all, but it _was_ applicable. Luckily for, well, everyone, no one else would say that sentence either.)  
  
They chat about their cars - Pamela giving him salacious grins that were less than serious and mostly fun - before the time draws nearer and they walk to the classrooms holding their daughters. (For the record: down the hall from each other, and in the ways of elementary school kids a grade apart - they all share recess and yet somehow different age groups do not often interact with each other without prior relationships - means their daughters probably have less knowledge of each other than their parents now do after a twenty minute conversation barely talking about them.)  
  
The next day Dean and Emma pick up milkshakes on their way home because Cas is going through a 'vegetable phase’ (and fuck Dean’s life because by phase Dean means _lifestyle_ , and as always Dean is torn between the horror of what Cas now considers a healthy meal for his daughter and husband and the pleasure of getting to be the parent that sneaks Emma away to consume The Reason to Get Up in the Morning, aka junk food) and being a Friday and that last step to the weekend - in which Cas will be around for every single meal to watch them like his father’s recent heart attack may be contagious - means they need to be fortified for the upcoming days.    
  
Mary calls as they’re pulled over and gets put on speaker phone - cell carefully place in the middle of the front seats so that both hands can be used to hold milkshakes, neither Emma nor Dean will ever be called graceful eaters - and Emma chats about her day, finger-painting and things found in the ocean and multiplication tables. Listening to his kid zoom through topics and speak like she’s on a timer sometimes reminds Dean of Sam in the best ways, with her own added twist that makes everything Emma-flavored. Mary needs a little more clarification than Dean does on some of the salient details, but she follows along pretty well, and is happy to listen before getting into the reason she called beyond loving her son and granddaughter.  
  
“I’m not sure if you remember me mentioning him, but I explained to Victor that a wood anniversary gift would be a lovely idea, so expect his call in a few days.”   
  
“Sure, thanks,” Dean says.  
  
“Goodbye sweetie, I’ll see you soon,” she adds, and he catches the reflex to respond because that’s the sign-off for his daughter these days. “I love you both.”   
  
“Yeah,” Dean says, because Mary, Sam, Cas, Emma, and the solid cast of friends he’s been building all his life have all made him the kind of man who doesn’t hesitate to express his love, but the words still sometimes catch in his throat, even with people like his mom. “Me too.”  
  
“I love you lots Granny-Ma,” Emma says, her newest version of grandma - she only has one, technically (or emotionally would be the better word) and has been testing out all the versions she can think of.   
  
They’ve finished their milkshakes by this point so Dean drives by the open trash can on the way home so Emma can toss their evidence (there’s a fifty-fifty shot Cas will just know by virtue of knowing Dean better than anyone - and if asked Dean has a ninety-ten shot of breaking down and telling him because its not fair to make Emma crack or feel bad for keeping secrets and no one can do a sad face like Cas - but Dean does the laundry/clothing stain removal so finding the cups in the trash at home are the only hard evidence Cas could have had.)  
  
Dean gets the call Monday morning, and they hammer out details. Victor knows the basics of what he wants - “My wife’s a psychic, and needs a new reading table,” which is definitely a new one for Dean - and is willing to pay as much through the nose for getting it done quickly in time for their anniversary Wednesday as Dean is willing to let him, having missed his chance at shopping this last weekend because of work/family time. (This would be more worrying if it was literally anyone else; Dean is incredibly bad about pricing things and has only not just given the stuff he makes away for free because a. Emma needs shoes and food and stuff and b. Cas is fucking ruthless and set up a basic pricing system for him to stick to on pain of death.)    
  
He leaves extremely early on Tuesday to finish the piece - which means he misses the hilarity of Cas having to get up earlier to get Emma ready in the morning, and that Dean misses any time of watching Cas in his slow process of waking up interacting with their hyper daughter is a goddamn shame, as far as Dean is concerned - and completes it in plenty of time before Victor shows up during his lunch break. Seeing him in person helps jostle his memory a little beyond 'FBI Agent who works in the office his mom manages’ and they chat amicably before Dean shows Victor his piece and Victor falls on his metaphorical knees in thanks. Dean’s added protection symbols to the legs of the table - as many as he could remember/Cas was able to find on short notice - and inlaid geometric shapes of lighter wood to the top of the table. For all it was done quicker than usual, it shows none of the rush and all of the usual care Dean puts into his pieces, and Victor tries to double his payment at the beauty of it.   
  
On Thursday, Dean is running late - there’s something about clocks that attach his attention and make him lose track of time, and Dean’s pretty sure that’s irony - and when he gets there he finds his daughter and another little girl playing, Pamela nearby tapping her fingers on the container next to her and continuously glancing over without shifting her head in a way that makes it clear that’s her daughter and she’ll be keeping an eagle eye out for her, thank you very much, but if the kid doesn’t notice all will be better.   
  
“Hey,” he says, walking over slowly, because its always good to see Emma playing with a kid her age and he doesn’t want to distract her.   
  
Pamela gives him a wide, disarming smile. “Hey handsome, I was waiting for you.”   
  
Dean’s face does something and Pamela laughs. “Not for that. I believe I have you to thank for my new beautiful table.”   
  
“Your psychic?” Dean asks.   
  
“Surprised?”   
  
“Actually, I can see it,” Dean says slowly, because she looks like she should be going to rock concerts and that makes more sense than the usual beads and dreamy expression pop culture says they have. If you can listen to the universe, as far as Dean is concerned, you should have good taste in music, and Pamela has on a Zeppelin concert shirt, which means she does.     
  
“Anyway, I made you cookies in thanks. It was gorgeous work, Dean.”   
  
He’s pretty sure he’s blushing (fuck verbal compliments, can’t people just leave a note for him to read in privacy if they have to say something), but hey, free cookies. “Thanks,” he mumbles, and thank God for his kid and her timing because both girls come over.   
  
“This is Josephine,” Emma tells him, and Josephine holds out her little hand for him to shake, which he does, trying to keep the “oh god this kid is so cute” off his face because kids hate that shit. “She knows everything about unicorns,” Emma adds, trying to beam at Josephine while giving Dean a look that clearly says “you have been remiss in my education” (and fuck Cas’s voice in his head.)   
  
“And this is Emma,” Josephine tells her mom. If Dean remembers the classroom hallway placements correctly she’s in third grade, probably a year older than Emma, but she’s got that 'mini-adult’ to her voice that makes him think if he knew Victor better he’d be seeing the resemblance. “She loves dinosaurs.”  
  
“Do we have to leave now?” Emma asks, making it sound like a yes will destroy her life and, possibly, the world.  
  
“Please, can we stay a little longer?” Josephine adds.   
  
(It should be noted Josephine and Emma will become great friends over a game called 'the dinosaurs are dying and I’m going to act out ever horrible, brutal moment’, and will later become best friends for life, but first Dean and Pamela will exchange those parent glances of 'should we exchange numbers for play dates or will this be one of those quick turnarounds of friendship and over before we exit the parking lot?’)   
  
For the moment, Pamela shrugs to let Dean know its his decision, and Dean happily says, “Sure, we have time." 


	2. the first word on his tombstone says father (various ages)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imagine John Winchester as your father. Now imagine the first time you hold your daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs: mentions of (internalized) biphobia, eating disorders, alcoholism, john winchester's a+ parenting (aka emotional abuse), one parent giving up their kid, character death
> 
> eta: I actually have a really nice timeline for this fic but this was one of the first pieces I wrote for the verse and forgot to change some stuff - aka "wife" was changed to "girlfriend"

  
Imagine John Winchester as your father. Imagine being five, ten, fifteen, imagine the way your heart is cupped into his palm, imagine how it feels, how his hands tighten around and squeeze until you don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing. Imagine there’s this gentle touch trying to slide you out (mom) and this explosive reach trying to dig his fingers off (brother) and imagine how even then you only notice it as a thing happening around the fist that holds you utterly still. Imagine trying to grow inside that hand, imagine trying to uncurl like plant leaves into the sun that cannot be seen through the thick skin that makes up your father’s hands. Imagine John Winchester, as your father.  
  
Now imagine the first time you hold your daughter, and the sheer panic that long ago wishing will make you exactly into the man your father wanted you to be.   
  
Lydia has three sisters and they watch Dean take Emma. He pauses at the doorway and Lydia nods, exhausted and sad and Dean takes her because wanting has never been the problem, but in this case there is no one who wants her more. He gets his daughter by default, and its on the list of shitty things that make up Dean Winchester, but sometimes in the long nights only a new parent can have (staring at the ceiling like answers will be written down and he can stop pretending he knows what he’s doing) he thinks just because he didn’t know how to fight for her then doesn’t mean he still doesn’t. He tries to keep his hands gentle around her because he knows just what it feels like to be clutched too tightly, but that doesn’t and never will stop the desire to keep her always.  
  
The first year of Emma’s life and Dean lives in a low grade anxiety of every decision he makes. He has help - his mother with her own hard won knowledge, his brother and the sheer terror the first time he holds a baby just barely as big as his hands (his girlfriend, who laughs her ass off and paints murals on Emma’s walls), his best friend, who gets into accidental staring contests with the baby and for the first time in his life loses. (This will be a battle he never wins because Emma has never shied away under the gaze of someone who loves her; it would never occur to her.) Dean has surrounded himself with good people and while not all of them have much interest in babies, they all have an interest in Dean.  
  
But that doesn’t change the fact that at the end of the day it is them, Dean and Emma, and just because the panicked phone calls at three am have places to go doesn’t curb the way he knows, bone deep and the truest thing he’s ever thought: she is his, and he is hers.  
  
The second year is easier. John’s voice never goes away (never could, never will), but it gets drowned out by the way Emma squeals his name and makes grabby hands at him any time he comes to pick her up from daycare, the way her first words are da and her second are pie (hey he gets a free one from the local diner for that one, totally worth it), the way she hides behind his leg and only wants him when she gets sick.  
  
For all there’s new decisions and worries every year that passes, it gets easier to ignore the disappointment that curled around his father’s voice and still whispers in his ear. Cas comes by and writes papers to the sound of Emma pushing shapes through her box, and Dean wakes up to see him sprawled on the floor listening seriously as Emma explains how Dino and Mr.Bee are building a house on the moon. Even when it turns into something else, even when Dean says yes to the steady question that’s been in Cas’s eyes for most of their friendship, Emma is happy, is genuinely and clearly happy in a way that can’t quite stand up to the way he can still see his father in his posture, in the way he hesitates to take Cas’s hands when they’re somewhere new, in the way his throat goes dry for the sharp want of alcohol to wet it.  
  
When is Emma is fifteen, pissed at everything because that’s what teenage bodies do, pissed at the way the coach laughed at her desire to join the team, in the way she has good friends but not a lot of them, in the way she still doesn’t know what she wants but not this, in the way her dad watches her eating habits like he’s worried, when Emma is mad and tells her dad at the end of a fight that had been brewing for weeks ‘I hate you’, it hurts like a sucker punch, like someone took his soul and carved into it with a rusty spoon.  
  
[Cas gets genuinely furious in the way he rarely does (Cas gets annoyed and frustrated and angry, esp in the way Dean never vacuums without at least five reminders, but he doesn’t get furious, not at Dean and not at Emma) and wants to break something when Dean says (begs) he’s spending the night in his shop.]  
  
John Winchester’s voice keeps him company that night, but its mixed with other things, Jody asking him for parenting advice and Cas smiling his favorite smile when he watches Dean talk to Emma and the way Emma spent the summer between third and fourth grade getting up hours before she had to just so she could help make him breakfast, and when she falls into his arms the next day crying and apologizing its easier to believe than anything John Winchester has ever said to him.  
  
Emma at seventeen, at Emma at twenty, Emma at twenty-five. When Emma joins he adds 'A Father and Daughter Shop’ to the bottom of the sign, hand carved by Dean and sanded by Emma. Dean makes Emma her first baby crib and Emma makes him his first walking cane, with Led Zeppelin lyrics along the side. He and Emma eat lunch together most days, telling each other about the other half of horror client stories and debates about wood and how many end tables can you make before you lose your mind (seven), and once a week Emma (and later Claire, and later Mia) come over and have dinner, Emma and Dean in the kitchen making food and laughing and trash talking the others’ music choices (“I remember your boy band phase you have no leg to stand on” / “Aren’t the Beatles like, the original boy band? Because I sure do remember listening to some of their songs and I wasn’t playing them” / “Your grandma taught me those!” / “Hey Grandma liked N'Sync just as much as them.”), and some weekends Emma spends hiking with Cas and some nights means stargazing with both of them and some nights means sharing a popcorn bowl with Dean as they watch something for the hundredth time, and John Winchester’s voice is like an old commercial you never hear anymore, easy enough to remember the jingle but not something you spend any time thinking of.  
  
If you asked, if you had the chance to ask Dean if he thought he was a good father right before he died, he would have said yes. There was no other answer, because Emma made it clear she’d believe no other.


	3. drive the bitter game [part a] (Emma, age 15)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or maybe it starts earlier, maybe they’re oblivious a lot longer, maybe Dean’s relationship with food was never healthy and she picked it up from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: eating disorder (anorexia), one minor case of parental neglect

  
It starts when she’s fifteen, still in her first year of high school. Or maybe it starts earlier, maybe they’re oblivious a lot longer, maybe Dean’s relationship with food was never healthy and she picked it up from him. (Emma is her own self, Emma is so much more than he could ever be, but he still has the underlining pride and fear, how much of him is in her mannerisms, her facial features, the way she thinks and feels and moves through the world.) 

Cas blames himself - when it reaches that stage beyond paranoia and something is actually wrong, not just a parent’s constant worry picking a new line of attack - because he’s never been good about meals at the same time, on a _schedule_ , never been good about reaching for food without Dean to coax/threaten/entice him into it. There was one time when Emma was seven and Dean was gone for a week and Cas forgot to pack her lunch one of the days, forgot to give her money, and Emma had just shrugged, when Cas remembered, when he and Dean asked her (when Dean yelled at him, when Dean was furious and disappointed and Cas never wanted to see that face again), “It’s not a big deal” she said (and Cas never wanted to hear those words again). He’s thinking about that, now, as he and Dean stand shoulder to shoulder and contemplate the crumpled napkins holding food in Emma’s bedroom wastebasket.   
  
“I don’t-” Dean says, because Emma looks thinner these days, bones sharper in her face, making her eyes and lips look bigger in her face, but they’ve been assuming its just puberty. Puberty, after all, gave Dean bow legs and Cas the ability to grow a beard; puberty gave Sam four fucking inches one summer, puberty could kiss Dean’s ass.   
  
“She didn’t have breakfast,” Cas says, quietly, an observation no one wants to hear. “She hasn’t, in weeks.”   
  
“Yeah, cause we’re rushing out the door and the kid would rather sleep in than grab a bowl of cereal. She still eats lunch.”   
  
“We have no way of knowing that.” Cas tightens his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “For dinner…she takes more salad. Instead of - she eats more salad.”  
  
“So she’s picking up Sam’s bad habits,” Dean argues, and it sounds like disagreement but mostly it was fear. It’s _this_ , because he doesn’t know what to do about _that_.   
  
“When was the last time she begged you to sneak out for burgers? Or ice cream?”   
  
“Ok, so, what?” Dean asks, and his face is hard, like it can keep the desperation and shame and fear from leaking out. “You saying she doesn’t eat?”   
  
“I’m saying,” Cas says, digging his fingers into Dean’s shoulder, “We need to make sure she does." 


	4. Uriel, Childhood Best Friend of Castiel  (Emma, age 5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He treats Emma like she is an actual argument in favor of humanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: alcohol

Let’s talk about the first time Dean met Uriel. 

Actually Dean couldn’t - there was a drinking contest, there was maybe some kind of singing, there was a hangover that lasted three days and all he could really tell you about that weekend is his discovery about Cas in Boarding School and the sad fact that at least 50% of the stories were washed away by the copious amounts of tequila they had.

Upon meeting Cas, you would think he was a nerd and maybe loser and prone to sitting in the back of rooms to read and maybe had a few close friends but overall was very much a loner. You’d be wrong - and Dean was somewhat horrified to realize that actually described _his_ high school experience -  because apparently Cas and his sister Anna and Uriel and their friend Joshua were like fucking Rock Gods, and had people fawning all over them and were invited to all the parties and chased after by anybody who experienced sexual and/or romantic attraction and Dean may have grabbed the bottle at this point, because stories about Cas and Uriel stealing the headmaster’s key to break into the cafeteria and throw a food party are one thing but realizing Cas would have been too cool for Dean was a little too much. (This was before they got together, when Dean’s insecurities were still playing mental loops around his inability to make a move.)      
  
Uriel and Cas were childhood friends who meet up to destroy (“test,” Dean was told, but considering both Dean and Ellen had no hope of keeping up with either of them when they actually go at it, ‘destroy’ seemed like the better word choice) their livers and carry on philosophical debates they started when they were twelve and argue about the great strides/set-backs of humanity (Cas was in love with it, Uriel talked about society the same way Dean talked about cockroaches.) Uriel had graduated college early and was fast-tracking his way up at a luxury cruise-line company (which is why Cas and Dean had a honeymoon about 1000x nicer than they originally thought they’d get) so he didn’t get a lot of off time. The first couple of years after Dean and Cas got together, Cas flew out to him instead of the other way around, so it was awhile before Uriel and Dean started spending actual time together.   
  
Which meant it was awhile until Uriel got to hang out with Emma.   
  
Now before this meeting, if asked, Uriel would be the first to say he wasn’t a kid person. He wasn’t endearingly bad at it like Sam and he didn’t react in terror like Bela (there is a picture of Bela - her hair in high ponytails and make-up smeared across her face - being half-strangled/hugged by three year old Emma, and if it weren’t for the back-ups Dean keeps in at least seven locations - necessary for every time she destroys the picture hanging on the fridge and the flash drives she can find - he would if there was a fire rescue it before almost any item besides Cas and Emma), Uriel just didn’t spend a lot of time around kids and considering his feelings about the rest of humanity assumed that base response to the world would carry on to its young.   
  
He was wrong.   
  
At least when it came to Emma.   
  
Uriel considered playing “dinotopia” (aka every dinosaur related item was set up around the room and then some complicated combination of Risk, Twister, and knock-everything-down was set upon the toys) the highlight of his visit. (“You have been replaced,” he tells Anna and Cas one night as he fake sips tea from what was less an actual kid’s tea set and more like ten old juicy cups Emma found at a yard sale Mary took her to.   
  
“This is….” Anna trails off.   
  
“Horrifying,” Cas tells her. “What was once the most ruthless of us has turned to mush.”)   
  
He treats Emma like she is an actual argument in favor of humanity (“I’m not even sure I count as one,” Cas told him, burying his head deeper into Dean’s shoulder, “and I’m his favorite friend”) and spends about three hours more on his goodbye to her than anyone else.   
  
The next time he calls, Uriel says thanks to Dean (for Emma) with complete sincerity, because spending time with Emma made him realize how much of his social life he was missing; he tells them he finally got the nerve to ask out Benny, and Benny said yes. 


	5. no baseball bat needed (Emma, age 12)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Emma is twelve she’s allowed to stay home for the night by herself.

When Emma is twelve she’s allowed to stay home for the night by herself. 

Cas and Dean have tickets to some play Cas really wants to see (Dean has been drinking copious amounts of coffee, he’s ready) and the usual suspects - and Dean is actually pretty proud/embarrassed by just how long a fucking list this is  - are all busy, because in a confluence of events that could only happen when Dean is trying to do something nice and early for their anniversary does this occur. Several of them offer to cancel their own plans (Dean seriously thinks about it for Anna because the date she’s going on with a woman named Ruby sounds like its own cautionary tale), but Emma - under the horrible influence of Cas - has been making actual slideshow presentations of how she’s old enough to stay home on her own and they’ve kind of been working.  
  
(Cas laughs his ass off every time but that’s because he has a sick sense of humor. Dean sits through all seven slideshow presentations. Emma borrows a projector from Cas’s classroom. She takes questions at the end. She uses _bullet points_ , God help him.) 

  
“You have our numbers memorized right? And I made you a plate of food just stick it in the microwave for two minutes - two Emma there better not be another explosion in there - and don’t eat later than 7. You can have ONE ice cream bar for dessert and I’ve counted them. Don’t play with Cas’s ties your gonna strangle yourself by accident. Do NOT answer the door. Jody’s working tonight and she can be over here in less than five minutes ok? I swear if you leave legos out I’ll - and do not drink any of the soda I think your - and for the love of God call us if you need us to come home at ANY time ok?”  
  
Dean finally lets go of - ok Cas pulls him away from where his kid is making fake choking sounds - and out the door. “I love you Emma. And lock the door.”  
  
Cas leans over and kisses her forehead. “I’ll try to keep the calls to just intermission.”  
  
He shuts the door before Dean can start in again, waits to hear the lock click in place, and tows Dean to his car.  
  
“Are you sure this is - ”  
  
“If you do not get into the driver’s seat right now I will be forced to.”  
  
Dean makes a face but stops resisting and goes around the front of the car. They drive to the play and have a lovely time (Dean gets really into Lady Macbeth and manages to stay distracted enough not to call Emma more than twice at the intermission) and when they get home Emma is asleep - actually asleep not faking it - and they celebrate their successful outing with quiet kissing and its a really nice night and the house looks no more messy in the light of day than it did before. 

 

 

  
Three weeks later Dean gets the bill for twelve pay per view movies and Emma’s not allowed to stay by herself again until she’s sixteen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eta: ugh sorry blowjobs was supposed to be kissing, changed that


	6. we'll call you (Emma, age 8)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon about Emma's first pet.

The thing is, what kind of pet does Emma have growing up?

Cause Dean hates dogs and is allergic to cats so that's the two most common and he's uncomfortable around snakes. Bunnies and chicken are too messy and Emma hates birds (parrots live a million years she wasn't gonna get one anyway) and the only person who thinks Cas's bees count are Cas in his effort to contribute to the conversation. (For all Cas loves nature and hiking and other outdoor/animal crap he doesn't really get the point of pets. Dean may not be cool with getting a dog but as far as he's concerned he still gets cool parent status for understanding why she'd _want_ one.) 

Rats/mice get knocked off the list immediately. Fish are a joke. (No literally Sam gets them a goldfish as a joke and by the end of the disaster of the day accidentally swallowed it. Dean almost broke something laughing, and again the next year when he buys Sam a stuffed Nemo fish for x-mas and Sam's resultant face after he tears through the wrapping paper, but the whole thing was "highly traumatizing Dean" and "we need something Uncle Sam won't kill" which as far as Dean was concerned wrote off most of the rest of the animal kingdom except for like, hippos he couldn't sit on and squash like the bigfoot he was.) 

They debate hamsters and lizards and Cas actually start petitioning for a guinea pig but Emma is only so-so on fur. So lots of random talks with strangers and some weird ass internet searches later, and then Cas solves the issue by bringing home hermit crabs.

"Better than the other kind of crabs," Dean agrees, and gets an elbow in his ribs for the trouble from Jody, who was technically over for dinner and really over because she and Donna were talking about fostering some girl named Alex and wanted to talk it over with the best parents she knows. (Dean does not get choked up and have to rub cold water onto his eyes for a few minutes. It was the fucking onions, ok.)

The cage is about two feet long and goes on the floor by the TV because all the surfaces of the house are covered with crap, and Dean watches Cas bend over and pour sand in (jeans stretching across that _ass_ , damn) and placing little containers for drinking water and bathing water and this is salt water and never use tap, he tells Emma seriously, and Emma nods her head seriously back and Jesus Christ he loves his family.

"So where'd you get it anyways?" Dean asks.

"A student was leaving and didn't want to take it with him. He called the crab Pick-Ax but assured me it would not be any trouble to re-name it."

"No way," Emma said, staring at the glass case like it was full of chocolate. "Mrs. Foldher says pets get used to the names they have."

"It's a crab, Emma," Dean starts to say, and this time gets an elbow from Cas. "Sure we'll keep calling it Pick-Ax," he says, overly bright.

"Hiya Picky," Emma says to the glass (and the crab which has since buried itself under the sand).

Jody is laughing into her shoulder and Cas is beaming and that's how they get their first pet.


	7. fourth date question (Emma, age 27)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I wanted, more than anything, to be a dinosaur wrangler."

“So, what did you want to be when you grew up?” Claire asked, rolling slightly in the sheets so she could see Emma’s face better.  
  
Emma was still a little red and a little breathless and the look she gives Claire is more fond than amused, but she also just had three orgasms so fondness, as far as Emma was concerned, was very much fair. The question was a little weird - the last thing either of them had said was ‘oh god fuck yes right there right right’ and a long moan - but Emma liked a little weird.

“I wanted, more than anything, to be a dinosaur wrangler."

Claire grinned. "Wait what?”  
  
“Ok, so I went through a dinosaur phase as a kid, right? Jurassic, not Cretaceous, I wasn’t a heathen and besides my dad used to rewind the tape to watch that 76 ball come rolling down and - anyway my other dad and aunts used to take me to zoos and aquariums and stuff, and every animal had its own place and type of caretaker, and so I figured dinosaurs had them too. I mean I kind of knew rocks fall, everyone dies, but I figured there had to be some leftover dinosaurs somewhere, and I was going to take care of them.”  
  
Claire’s propped her head up on her hand by this point, obviously fascinated. “How long did this go on for?”  
  
“Oh, wow, I think I was nine? My Uncle Sam was visiting and he was kind of debating if he still wanted to be a lawyer around then, and I think Dad said something about him wanting to be a lawyer since he was a kid, and so I was all 'I’d never give up my dream of being a dinosaur wrangler’ - only I think I used to call it dino keeper cause Dad was a beekeeper and he took me once to meet a zookeeper and I think my Aunt Hael used to call them fish keepers to annoy Dad - and then my Uncle broke the news that there were no dinosaurs to wrangle.”  
  
Claire laughed. “What happened after that?”  
  
“I kicked his shin.” Emma waited until Claire was done laughing into her pillow before continuing. “I wouldn’t talk to him for forever and he used to send me dinosaur related stuff all the time until I finally forgave him for shattering my dreams. Dad said I should have held out until I got a bike painted like a dinosaur but my other Dad kept talking about forgiveness and courtesy so I finally had to say it was okay.” Emma made a face. “Still, I would have been an awesome dinosaur wrangler.”  
  
“Oh sure. No reason to let a little 100 million years and mass extinction to get in the way of your true profession.”  
  
“Exactly,” Emma said, poking Claire.  
  
“So what came after that?”  
  
“Well after I got over the awful knowledge and could finally start thinking about my future again, my Dads and I sat over many hot chocolates and hashed out a plan.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah, I was gonna open a theme park."


	8. the one with the change of plans [porn] (Dean, age 27)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean follows, can’t not, eyes stuck on the way Cas’s lips tick a little like he’s holding back a larger smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, this one is like 3/4ths porn. Cas is gray-ace but mostly his relationship to sex is ever-revolving and this time he happens to want it (whereas other times he's not even gonna wanna kiss); I think I made this clear in the fic but just a heads up to people who wanted 100% sex-repulsed!Cas or 100% likes-sex!Cas. //for the non-porn, go to [ch10](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4116886/chapters/11055881) please 
> 
> Also for the record I used "dick" not "cock" but don't expect me to be consistent about that - on the off chance there's more porn coming - cause I don't care and therefore tend to switch in no discernible pattern.

  
“Hey Pam,” Dean says. Josephine is shouting from upstairs that she’s coming and Emma starts for the door before Dean’s foot blocks her path. He leans over to grab the back of her overalls to keep her in place. “How are you?”  
  
Pam’s already grinning. “I’m great. And you?”  
  
“Awesome. Thank you for taking Emma tonight.”  
  
“Josephine’s been looking forward to it. Me too. Hi, Emma,” she says.  
  
“Hi Mrs. Barnes. Daddy,” she adds.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, can I have a hug goodbye?” 

She turns around and basically jumps into his arms, because she’s 5% trampoline, and Dean squeezes her hard and kisses her cheek. 

  
“You can call home anytime, okay?” he reminds her before gently dropping her back down. “To get picked up or if you just need to talk to one of us.”  
  
“I know,” she says, complete belief in that fact (and he’s doing something right, if he can get his kid to sound like that, he’s gotta be), and then she’s towing her little pink backpack inside and Josephine’s finally there, yelling out a garbled hello to him before both girls are racing off to the living room.    
  
“She gets those manners from her dad,” Pam tells him, and Dean laughs.  
  
“Thanks for doing this.”  
  
Pam shrugs. “Got a feeling we’ll be doing this a lot, so you can pay me back soon.”  
  
“I hope so,” Dean says, because he gets nervous about Emma’s lack of friends, and he likes Josephine and Pamela and Victor, and he just wants his kid to have people her own age.  
  
“Now go away. And have a good night with your husband,” she adds with a lavish wink.  
  
Dean groans but takes the hint and gets off her porch. He centers himself in the car, because Emma’s had plenty of sleepovers, just never with a friend, and he checked three times to make sure he packed her purple toothbrush, and he’s fifteen minutes away by car (as long as Cas isn’t in it to lecture him about speeding.)  
  
Cas is just coming back as he pulls up, and he waits by the door for Dean to exit the car, blue sweater rumpled and hair already a mess. They get inside and Dean pushes into Cas’s space, Cas’s back leaning against the wall, so Dean can nuzzle into his neck, feel the curve of his shoulder under his eyes. Cas lifts his hand and places it behind Dean’s neck, rubs his fingers gently where his hairline starts, the other arm curving around Dean’s waist.  
  
“She will be okay, Dean.”  
  
“I can’t fuck this up.”  
  
“You won’t.” Cas slides his hand around to cup Dean’s chin, lift his face up. They’re inches apart and Dean can feel Cas’s breath across his lips. “You aren’t able to.”  
  
“Okay,” Dean says, closing his eyes and nodding once. “Okay.”  
  
“She will call if she needs one of us. Until then, don’t borrow worry.”  
  
“Yeah.” Dean opens his eyes and cracks a small smile. “I had plans for us.”  
  
“You should tell me about them,” Cas tells him seriously. Dean can feel his smile grow.  
  
“Well,” he tells Cas, trying for just as serious a voice, “How do you feel about the couch?”  
  
“An important piece of furniture,” Cas tells him, and starts backing away to the living room. Dean follows, can’t not, eyes stuck on the way Cas’s lips tick a little like he’s holding back a larger smile.  
  
“I figure there’s two of us, we can share it.”  
  
“Sharing is caring,” Cas says, which is one of those phrases Cas can’t say without sounding like he’s just visiting Earth and quoting something from an alien-to-English manual, and Dean has to pause to laugh helplessly. Cas stops moving with him, waits for Dean to catch himself. “You should show me.”  
  
Dean feels that lust bolt inside him, that low level hum sizzle awake. “Yeah?” he asks, a little breathless, “Cause I can definitely do that. You want that, baby?”    
  
Cas wanting actual sex is pretty hit or miss, and the original plan was for some slow kissing and cuddling, maybe taking a pause away from Cas to jerk off, and then dragging Cas into the kitchen and making him something to eat, probably back to the couch to watch one of Cas’s nature documentaries and (based on past experience with the soothing voices) falling asleep to it, but Dean is always down for a change of plans.  
  
“Mmmm,” Cas murmurs, still looking at Dean, which is his way of saying he’s not completely sure but more aimed that way than usual. He finally breaks eye contact and moves around to sit on the couch, patting the seat next to him in that horribly endearing coy way Cas has, which is less coy and more like he’ll smite Dean if he doesn’t move.  
  
So Dean moves.  
  
He circles around, lets his fingers run across Cas’s shoulder blades, and drops down in the middle seat. He runs his left hand over Cas’s thigh and then twists and catches his lips. He keeps it soft, almost chaste, until finally running his tongue across the seam, suggestive until Cas’s mouth drops open for him.  
  
He spent about three years fantasizing about kissing Cas before the first time he got to, and its never lost the thrill, the way his whole body moves into it, wraps himself around Dean to cradle him close. Dean tangles his fingers into his hair and Cas throws one leg over Dean’s to get closer, catches Dean’s tongue with his own and rubs against it. His hands dig into Dean’s waist and Dean loves the bruises he leaves behind, the barely visible marks Dean can search for in the mirror and press down on to feel where Cas got careless with his own strength, at the way he’s not always greedy for this but he’s always greedy for Dean.    
  
Cas parts just enough for Dean to pull his sweater off, and makes a noise of annoyance when they have to separate again so Dean can take his own shirt off. He switches to attack Dean’s neck, scraping his teeth along the tendon until he can gently bite under Dean’s ear, nibble on his ear lobe before Dean drags his head back with his hands and sucks his tongue in his mouth. He’s hard already, can feel Cas getting there along his thigh, and Cas squirms closer, like air between them means they’re too far away from each other.  
  
They make out like this for a while, that slow drip of time as Dean loses his place in the world in favor of getting lost in the feel of Cas. He’ll get distracted from the kissing, lick along Cas’s chest and suck marks into his collarbone, his pectorals, flick his tongue against his nipples until they tighten up, and Cas will do it back to him, find all the sensitive places on Dean’s skin and ruthlessly go after them, deliberate like he’s got a checklist and is going through it twice.  
  
It’s Cas who drops his hands to Dean’s jeans and starts to undo them. Cas leans back enough so he can watch his hands, not very good at doing this to someone else without looking, and Dean tries to catch his breath. He touches finger tips to his hands, waits until Cas looks up. “You sure?”  
  
“Yes,” Cas says, and Dean runs his fingers through the thick black hair, sucks in air when Cas pulls him out. Cas holds his hand out to Dean’s mouth and Dean kisses the palm before licking it, coating it wet and then running his tongue up the fingers until he can pull them into his mouth and suck. He watches Cas’s eyes darken, and he hollows out his cheeks, sucking while Cas watches, somewhere between amused and highly turned on.  
  
“You’re so good,” Cas says, voice deep and steady and sure, and Dean can’t help bucking his hips slightly, mouth closing even tighter around his fingers. Its almost a mistake, the reminder causing Cas to pull his hand away, the wet sound of it loud in between their breathing, and then Cas is reaching down. He curls his hand around Dean’s dick, and Dean can feel his head thunk against the back of the couch, his eyes roll up slightly as Cas starts to slide up and down his shaft, rubbing his thumb under the head until pre-cum dribbles out. Cas is basically riding his thigh, taunt stomach muscles pulling as Cas holds himself back so he can watch, eyes glancing between Dean’s face and the hand he has around his dick. He sticks two of his own fingers in his mouth, sucking for longer when he sees Dean’s eyes trained on him, and then uses them to press just behind his balls, even as his nails scratch up Dean’s shaft. He manages this once, twice before Dean’s whining low in throat, his hips bucking helplessly in the cage of Cas’s hands as he cums, Cas stroking him through it.  
  
“Please,” Dean says, voice wrecked, because Cas’s lower lip is open and he’s staring at Dean, and Dean leans over and sucks it into his mouth, pulling it slightly with his teeth before releasing it. He drops his hands to Cas’s hips, stopping the unconscious rutting motions Cas was making with his hips. “Please, want you in my mouth.”  
  
“Yes,” Cas says, and he falls back into his seat as Dean slides under him, moving to sit between Cas’s spread legs and taking over as Cas unbuckles his belt. Dean unbuttons his pants and drags his boxers off with them, and he can feel his mouth salivate, looking at Cas, chest a little sweaty and eyes wild and dick straining up. He doesn’t even bother grabbing a pillow, knows his knees will hate him for it later but doesn’t care, just grabs Cas’s hands and puts them in his hair, then rubs his hands up and down Cas’s thighs until Cas tightens them.  
  
Usually when Dean comes first he moves slow, will take Cas in one tiny increment at a time, restraining Cas from bucking up, until Cas is cursing him, is telling Dean all the things he’ll do if Dean won’t let him move. But this time he just swallows Cas, can’t wait to feel the weight of Cas in his mouth, and let’s Cas buck up immediately. The sound that comes out of Cas would be worth it even if Dean didn’t love the way he feels, the way he’s pushing against the line Dean won’t let him cross, body twitches he can’t stop. Dean pulls up, leaving just the head in so he can suck, hollow out his cheeks again like the thing with the fingers was just a preview, and Cas is mewling when Dean relaxes his jaw and swallows down on him again, taking Cas in until he hits the back of his throat. Cas is shaking around the tiny muscle contractions Dean’s throat can’t help making, his fingers pulling at Dean’s head like he lost his place and needs an anchor, and Dean keeps him there, can feel the saliva leaking from the corners of his mouth as lets Cas push himself in and out, use his mouth for his pleasure. Dean glances up through his eyelashes, catches Cas staring at where Dean’s lips circle Cas’s dick, and the motion makes Cas look at him. He comes, the sound punched out of him, and Dean swallows it down like its ambrosia. He barely realizes his hand has been squeezing his own dick until it tightens as Cas lets out another small spurt as Dean’s mouth pops off his dick.  
  
They look at each other, breathing heavily, until Cas gives his mega-watt smile, straight teeth and all affection aimed straight at Dean.  
  
“Thank you for showing me,” Cas murmurs, rubbing gentle circles in Dean’s hair as apology, and it takes a beat to remember the conversation they were having before he bursts out laughing again.  


	9. this night distinguished  (Dean, age 19)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He shows up at Rufus’s with a bottle of wine purchased by his _mom_ , because he managed to cut himself off before he uttered the grounded-if-you-still-lived-at-home phase ‘I have a fake ID.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: alcohol 
> 
> Rufus is canonically Jewish, and I made Tessa and her dad Mr. Death Jewish too.

He shows up at Rufus’s with a bottle of wine purchased by his _mom_ , because he managed to cut himself off before he uttered the grounded-if-you-still-lived-at-home phase ‘I have a fake ID,’ even though Jo warned him she and her mom would be bringing all the extra bottles of alcohol that could possibly be needed, considering besides the wine Rufus had his own Johnnie Walker Blue stash and Bobby carried a flask. 

“Oh good,” Tessa says, making a come in motion and smiling at Dean. “Me, you, and Jo are representing a generation of feckless fools, and its harder to argue when one of us is ten minutes late.”  
  
“I’m not gonna be much help,” Dean says, but lets her gather him in a soft hug, even though its been five days since they saw each other last. Tessa has this soporific affect on Dean, like her calm acceptance of life and everything in it translates into Dean’s whole body relaxing, and even being around her dad Mr.Death (scary) can’t completely counteract it. 

[The first time they hung out outside of the job they’d gone drinking (just legal for her, not at all for him), which led to an embarrassing confession on Dean’s part (“you’re like petting a bunny”) and loud singing on Tessa’s in the middle of the street, providing enough blackmail material for each of them that their secret is safe with the other.]  
  
Ellen squeezes his shoulder and steals the bottle from his hand to place it on the already set table, and Bobby and Mr.Death give him nods but don’t move away from their conversation. Jo pops up to give him a big hug, then blushes slightly and grabs Tessa’s hand to pull her outside, so he wanders into the kitchen where Rufus is peering into the oven.  
  
“What?” Rufus asks when he gets into his line of sight.  
  
“You need any help?”  
  
“No. Get eat some vegetables and tell everyone to stay out of the kitchen.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Dean sits down near Bobby and Mr.Death and gets caught up in a conversation about baseball, then gets pulled away when Jo and Tessa come back in and Jo starts asking them about college and if she’ll actually like it.  
  
“Mom’s on my case but it’s not like you need a college degree to be a bounty hunter.”  
  
“You can try it for a year,” Tessa offers.  
  
Jo scoffs. “With all the extra money we have? Bad enough I’m doing applications, they’re like fifty bucks a school.”  
  
“Well,” Tessa starts, and then Ellen’s shrill whistle interrupts them. “Everyone go sit down,” Ellen tells them, and when none of them immediately move she adds, “Now.”  
  
Rufus sits down on the chair with a pillow at the head of the table, and Ellen and Bobby get into a small glare match before Mr. Death swipes the other end out from beneath them. Bobby ends up sitting by Rufus and Ellen by Mr.Death, with Jo stuck between them with her martyr expression, and Dean swallows a laugh as he sits across from her and next to Rufus, with Tessa on his other side.  
  
The men all grab a yarmulke (Dean a beat behind, the only one experiencing his first Seder) and then Rufus flips open a blue booklet with the title 'Passover Haggadah’ and clears his throat. He raises his wine glass, says something in Hebrew and then repeats it in English, “Blessed art thou, O Eternal, our God, King of the Universe, Creator of the fruit of the vine.” He says something else in Hebrew, and again repeats it in English, a summary-like blurb Dean recognizes from his quick research on what exactly Passover was when he first got the dinner invitation. “Now everyone recline and have some wine.”  
  
Dean takes a swallow, and must make some kind of face because Jo is biting her lip to keep from laughing out loud. Its incredibly sweet, and he doesn’t really know wine but he’s pretty sure it shouldn’t taste like something from a juice box.  
  
Rufus continues on in that vein, Hebrew and then English, adding little asides as he does each piece (“I’m too lazy to get up and wash my hands, which is why I got this little symbolic thing,” he says, making pouring motions with a miniature bronze pitcher, and ignoring the way Ellen elbows Jo when she mutters, “But you also washed your hands, right?”) They take turns reading sections of the booklet, and when it gets to his turn Dean reads, “What says the wise son? He asks: 'What are these testimonies, statutes, and judgements which the Eternal, our God hath commanded you?’ Then thou shalt instruct him in the laws of Passover, teaching him after the paschal lamb no dessert ought to be set on the table.”  
  
He likes when they get to the plagues, the way Rufus reads “With a strong hand…with an outstretched arm…with great terror” like he’s speaking thousands of years of history, of words that never lost their meaning, how they dip their fingers in their wineglass and flick it into the bowl of salty water in front of them.  
  
The horseradish make his mouth flame, but the charoseth (“It’s basically wine, apples, and walnuts,” Tessa whispers to him) is good, and he eats the potato and egg pretty fast despite the saltiness. The wine he’s been sipping throughout the meal has left him warm and slightly drowsy, which is why he doesn’t catch Jo’s face until after he takes a bite of the gefilte fish.  
  
He swallows, feel his throat barely accept the too large/not completely chewed piece, and takes a long drink from his water while Ellen makes Jo help pass out matzah ball soup in punishment. (Bobby is still eating them and even Rufus is making a face.) He’s careful this time, taking a small bite until he realizes they taste nothing alike, and then he happily plows through his soup.  
  
“This is delicious,” he says.  
  
“Family recipe,” Rufus tells him, and he and Ellen clear off the top plates and start bringing out the food, platters of brisket and vegetable dishes and some cauliflower thing that actually tastes pretty good. Rufus and Bobby and Ellen get into an argument about some camping trip they all took twenty years ago, and Jo and Tessa and Mr.Death and Dean all argue TV (Mr. Death got admittedly less scary the first time Dean found out he loved b-western movies and fast food), and he feels warm and happy and jumps up an hour later to help clear off dishes.  
  
Dean gets put in charge of washing dishes (and he’s careful, so careful with the pretty fragile things, at the way Rufus holds them gently in his hand, and Dean thinks of his mom’s wedding china) while Tessa makes coffee and Rufus brings out a plate of cookies and a bowl of fruit.  
  
“I thought we weren’t supposed to have dessert?”  
  
“Shut-up Dean,” Jo says, grabbing a handful of cookies. “He’s only gotten them to taste good in the last five years.”  
  
Dean half laughs. “What?”  
  
“Passover’s terrible with dessert,” Ellen says. “Used to have to eat these little rock things. He’d tell us to dip them in coffee if we needed them softened.”    
  
“You could roll a tank over them and not break them,” Bobby chimes in.  
  
They laugh, old jokes and old history, and Dean sits back and watches these people, these people who grabbed onto him and took him in and treat him like he belongs, and he can’t stop smiling.


	10. its a damn table [non-porn] (Dean, age 25; or: Cas, age 28; or: thereabouts)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If there are times when Cas likes Dean unbuttoning his shirt and licking a path down his chest, there are plenty of other times when he just... doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was really important to me that if I have a gray-ace!Cas story that has sex (ch8), then there also needs to be a scene that specifically _doesn't_ have sex. (It took me like three weeks to actually post it though, because I kept wanting to tweak the first paragraph, which never actually happened because RL has been shitballs.)
> 
> title of the chapter is cause "sex isn't always on the table" but also [half-sassed has a furniture metaphor for (a)sexuality](http://oranges8hands.tumblr.com/post/125740551653/how-people-treat-sexual-orientation-as-explained). 
> 
> Anyway thanks people who have been liking the verse!
> 
> tw: self-esteem, acephobia, please see end notes for details about the mention of past dub/non-con [starts with "He's about to say something - the first year together"]
> 
> (also apologies if formatting is still screwed up)

Sometimes, Cas can't tell if he's horny or hungry, the minute shakes that scan through his limbs and weight in his lower stomach, the way his throat feels dry and his skin feels heavy. It's not something he's ever been able to explain - _how do you not know if you want to fuck or eat?_ Dean had asked, partly incredulous and mostly confused - but he's still not the best at figuring out the signals his body gives and sometimes he just needs something to hit his senses and take over his ability to think.

Mostly he knows its want, flushed and aching and on the edge even before something starts. It's not necessarily directed at Dean - as aesthetically pleasing as he is - but its not _not_ directed at him either. Cas doesn't want anybody but he doesn't always mind Dean's hands instead of his own, Dean's mouth and fingers enacting pitch perfect pressure that has him skimming over the edge faster than he realizes, the sheer pleasure Cas gets in watching Dean get overwhelmed and borderline worshipful. Cas may not have all the instincts to know what to do with it, he may not be able to reciprocate it every time, but he doesn't want that gaze on anybody else but him. Sex is fun because its Dean making him laugh, its sweet because Dean treats his body as another part of him to romance, its intimate because Cas feels comfortable being naked and having Dean be naked in turn, in having another way to reach out and be reached, but its never been that blinding bolt of lust _for_ Dean. Horniness, it took a lot of years to discover, is not the same thing, and while Cas accepts and even makes the first move some times, sex has never about looking at Dean and _wanting,_ beyond the fact that its Dean and Cas is (still) (will always be) deeply in love with him.

And if there are times when Cas likes Dean unbuttoning his shirt and licking a path down his chest, there are plenty of other times when he just... doesn't.

He's sitting on the couch, legs spread slightly. Dean is leaning between them, sucking softly on the flesh of his hip bone. He's half hard, jeans too tight, and Dean's mouth is lush and soft and shiny, and Cas knows what he's supposed to be feeling and he knows what Dean wants him to be feeling, but today is one of those days when all the planning for alone time doesn't mean shit when his body would really rather not deal with sex, and all that comes with it.

He's about to say something - the first year together had led to a lot of mistakes and a lot of fights and Dean near tears, head on Cas's knee, asking him to please just tell him the truth because yes doesn't mean shit if no isn't also a willing answer and he doesn't want Cas ever feeling like that - when Dean lifts his head up. His face is flushed, eyes a little dazed and body leaning towards Cas like he doesn't realize he's swaying slightly, but he drags his eyes from where they landed on Cas's lips and Cas watches him shake his head a little as if to knock the sense back into it.

"You aren't feeling this, are you?" he asks, rueful, hands still on his hips and rubbing little soothing circles into Cas's skin. Cas is about 80% sure Dean still doesn't realize how much he touches people, tries to comfort with his hands in the way he doesn't trust his words to know how to do.

"Not...quite," Cas finally says. He cards a hand through Dean's hair, smiles softly at the way Dean nuzzles into it. "You are very beautiful," he says.

Dean blushes. "Jesus, Cas."

"Well you are."

"Yeah, I'm hot stuff," he agrees, rolling his eyes.  

"Just because I-"

"I know Cas," Dean says, and he's smiling one of those private smiles. "I know you not...being into this isn't a reflection of me. You've made that loud and clear."

"Yes well-"

"You just worry," Dean interrupts again, because yes, they _have_ had this discussion a lot. Cas feels guilty because even his admittedly weak grasp of societal norms doesn't mean he didn't learn exactly how wrong he was for not wanting - well, a woman, first off, but anybody after that - and he knows Dean spent too many years feeling unloved (John Winchester's reach was a long one, though Cas has a list and detailed plans about all the others who helped with that feeling too) to want to be even close to a stone added to that weight. Dean grabs both of his hands in his and kisses them, and Cas can't help but just stare at him.

"Please don't," Dean adds, and Cas knows he means _please don't pretend_ and _please don't worry_ and _please be you_.

"Okay," Cas says. They look at each other and then Cas tells him, "You should go masturbate and then make me dinner."

Dean starts laughing helplessly and Cas just sits back, pleased, hands still in Dean's as he goes red.

"Yeah Cas," Dean says finally, catching his breath and releasing his hands to reach up with his left to tug on Cas's hair, "Good plan."   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the mention of tw: dub/non-con explained: 
> 
> Feel free to ask if you want the details, but to make a long story (Cas's sexual and romantic history) short: they've never had sex (oral, handjobs) without Cas's consent and interest, but they have made out without it, esp in the early days of their relationship when Dean was still learning to read Cas's body cues and not just what he said and Cas was still [dismantling the idea](http://oranges8hands.tumblr.com/post/125992891228/beranyth-scarybalkanlady-saintjustitude) that he should be having sex with his partner to make him happy, whether _Cas_ wanted to or not. (yeah thanks, society) 
> 
> In this specific scene, they were making out, which Cas was down for, but then as it continued past his neck (and Dean started to go for blowjobs) he just got all blah/ehh about the idea; Dean notices and stops immediately. 
> 
> As for Dean having a very non-canon understanding of consent ([fuck you so much show](http://oranges8hands.tumblr.com/tagged/spn)), that'll be addressed whenever I do the road trip chapter. 
> 
> Aaaaaaand this chapter has more notes than it does story SORRY.


	11. baby, baby got me wrapped around (Emma, age 7 [days])

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven days in, it's a different kind of life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seven days](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1799500), baby, _this_ is the AU.
> 
> [hello readers! I actually finished this one months ago, happy finally posting. (In my defense I was trying to finish the divorce chapter (Sam/Jess, not Dean/Cas) first so that this could be a sappy cleanser, but that chapter is being written at the rate of about one word per week, and in the post-Nov '16 world we don't have that kind of time.]

She sleeps a lot.

His mom says that will change, that the first two weeks are softer than the rest of the baby years, and above that Emma may just naturally be more quiet. _Born with a quiet soul, like you,_ Mary said, one hand cupping his cheek. _Until you grew into it._

It's terrifying, thinking about her growing up, as a kid, as a teenager. Awe-inspiring overlaid on that, with a heavy dose of possibility; will her eyes stay that pretty hazel, will her chin keep that little dimple, how much more hair than those few baby fine wisps will he one day have to braid. Everything of her future road stretches bright and long, and he with the shaky hands will help walk her down it.

Rufus made him the rocker he now uses. Anna got the weird square pillow that he uses to rest his arm on while he holds her. Today's outfit is from Bela (a purple so pale it was almost white, with a small flower embroidered over her heart) and the wrap is from Mrs.W by way of Gordon.

And Emma, made from him and Lydia, was the center of it all. 

She's the most important weight he's ever lifted. He's used to carrying thick planks of wood, boxes of tools, finished furniture that could outweigh him easily. He's strong, he knows that, and years of manual labor will back him up, but her little seven pounds two ounces (and counting) knock him for the biggest loop, makes him feel like the whole world is holding its breath for him to drop her.

She's warmer than he expected too, the solid weight of her wrapped up and held in his arms for hours at a time. (Mary says he can get the baby thermometer back next week if he doesn't devolve into a verbal breakdown about iced baths until then.) And her breathing, that newborn fast panting, which had him halfway to the car for the doctor before his mom could stop him. Sam had to do his stupid breathing exercise with him, but at least he kept his cracks mostly to himself.

 _New parents freak out_ , the doc said at her first check-up, just a few days after being born. _You're doing fine Dean_.

He's not sure about that, he thinks now, letting the chair gently rock them. Her hands are doing their usual curl and wave, tucked under her chin and than half covering her face and then stretching down to her toes. He gets a little bummed during the middle of the routine, even if they don't last too long in that position; but Emma has the best face, little bow lips and mostly closed lines for eyes, the way it scrunches and releases in random patterns to whatever she dreams about. He gets a little lost, just watching her face, the way she smacks her lips into yawns, wiggles her whole body when she sleeps through changing her position the slightest centimeter. Her left cheek is slightly redder than her right, her forehead this smooth stretch before any of the wispy hair makes an appearance. She sleeps tilted toward him, and the little curve of her right ear has the slightest indent to it.

No, he's not sure he's doing such a good job, but he sits and rocks her long into the night, wanting to be near her for just a little longer.


	12. Newton's got nothing on this [part a] (Emma, age 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, it's sickening domestic, is what it is, except for how domestic is basically his dream come true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part 1 of the "5 moments of non-sexual intimacy between Dean and Cas" section.

It's not like Dean is completely unaware here. He may not be as emotionally available as some people, but he's in touch with his emotions. He's got them. He's a father, ok, he's not allowed to be a closed off prick, he's Emma's only parental role model. So he's not unaware, he'd like to make clear, this thing has been building inside of him since their first meet and greet and he knew it, in the sense that you know gravity's a thing, but it's not until a couple of years down the academic line that you learn _words_ and _descriptions_ and _history_ for it.  
  
It's just, Jesus, _Jesus_ , this must be what the apple felt. Splat, and then some guy's voice in the background going _Eureka_.  
  
Emma's on the floor. She's playing with these squishy stuffed numbers Gordon got her, and Dean's been keeping one eye on her to make sure - he doesn't even know, to make sure she doesn't try to eat them, he just can't help keeping one eye on her, always - and reading with his other, some book about new trends in home designs cause he needs to keep updated. Cas is on the other end of the couch, grading papers, sneaking off to play one of those stupid games on his phone, and Dean's been poking him with his toes whenever he goes over three minutes. It's why Cas likes grading papers around him, even with Emma's baby babble and Dean's muttered commentary as noisy background, because Dean'll keep him on track, and it works for Dean, because hey more Cas is always good, and also keeps him doing _his_ work, to set a good example.   
  
(Everything in his life, for the rest of forever, will be about being a good example. It kind of sucks, cause Dean never worried about it too much as a kid - _liar_ \- but it's for Emma, or in this case Cas, and Emma and Cas are the best thing ever.)  
  
Anyway, it's sickening domestic, is what it is, except for how domestic is basically his dream come true, according to Bela (disdain only somewhat in her voice, mixed in with confusion), and she's right, she's so damn right, but still, it's a lot to ask a guy. Dean knows that, knows it's not just him any more, he's a package deal, and that's a lot of package to ask a guy to pick up, especially one as smart as Cas. So Dean knew, about his feelings, and also the million-long list on why he wasn't going to do anything about them (Cas is his best friend, Cas is too young to be a dad, Cas is too smart to stay here for long and Dean is too scared to ever leave, Cas deserves better than him, Dean currently lives with his _mom_ , is Cas even into guys, etc etc he's got the _whole_ list made), and therefore never the twain shall meet, or whatever, but -  
  
_splat_.  
  
Cas isn't even doing anything special. In Dean's mental timer he's got a minute left to pop bubbles or whatever game he's playing before Dean'll poke him, and Dean needs to finish this chapter so he can start dinner, and it's gonna be like any night they usually have, and maybe Dean'll talk him into finally watching _Die Hard_ , but there's no objective reason that Dean can't look away, like he usually can once he, you know, realizes he was staring at Cas.  
  
According to his Dad, he never knows when to keep his mouth shut, and Jesus Dad you may be right, cause Dean -  
  
"I love you, Cas," Dean says, and there's a brief moment when Cas is still involved in his game and Dean is still sitting there, and then auditory processing kicks in and they both realize what he said.  
  
"I just -" and he's too flustered to think of what comes next, and Cas - eyes wider than usual and such a beautiful blue - is already asking, "You mean..." and then he trials off too. And he looks, Dean doesn't even know, but cat's out of the bag now anyway.  
  
"I love you. As more than a friend. I'm, you know, in love with you. And its, I'm not expecting anything, I know, with Emma and I know, but just, I love you Cas."  
  
Smooth, Winchester.  
  
And then there's this silence, which shouldn't feel quite as silent as it does since Emma is still murmuring on the ground, but Dean feels like his whole body is being sucked into this tiny little space, and like his hearing and his eyesight aren't working, and like his chest is on fire. It's not that Dean didn't expect - whenever he let his mind follow just this far along the possibility - this kind of response. Actually, this was a better response than some of his other thoughts, up to and including Cas calling him disgusting and promising to never come near him again, which even Dean at his most despondent knew was ridiculous, Cas would never _do_ _that_ , but still, Cas being gobsmacked, or worried about turning Dean down, or just taking awhile to understand why his best friend was changing the rules on him, well, it meant that faint hope, that teeny tiny seed he would deny existing to anyone who knew about how sometimes the thought of Cas's smile could light up his whole day, well, it meant it was wrong. Dead.  
  
Except then Cas says, "I want to grow old with you, I want to be Emma's dad, I love you so much," he finishes, starting to cry, and oh, _oh_ , well okay then.


	13. Newton's got nothing on this [part b]  (Emma, age 13)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a quiet moment of domesticity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part 2 of the "5 moments of non-sexual intimacy between Dean and Cas" section.

For the most part Dean and Emma are gone by the time Cas makes his way back to the living. He'll get up early (ish) for weekends, mostly because they have things to do and a child who doesn't believe in sleep, but Monday through Friday Dean is in charge of mornings and getting Emma to school and starting work early. Dean doesn't mind much; he's always gotten up early, even in those fun times of late night partying college years, and Cas literally looks like someone ran over all the kittens in the world if he has to roll out of bed before he's properly booted up.

So it's kind of surprising when Dean gets up Thursday and Cas is already removed from his bed sheet nest, enough that he has a brief second of panic that it's Saturday, or some holiday he completely forgot about. He blinks his eyes a few times and checks his phone, but nope, it's a regular Thursday and his calendar has no suggestions on why Cas is singing with the roosters.

He rubs his face a few times and manages to make half the bed before he realizes the shower's running. Least that locates _where_ Cas is, and he tosses the rest of the pillows against the headboard with less care than he usually would, on the few days he's second out of bed and needs to make it.

According to spouses and roommates across the land, living with a handyman (even if that's not Dean's _current_ job) means living with a revolving door of updates and renovations, sometimes half-finished cause it's not like they didn't have to put paying jobs first. Dean's not the worse of the lot he knows, and it's not like rest of the country didn't fall into HGTV/DIY black holes too, but technically when they first got it this house was a fixer upper, and Dean did a _lot_ of fixing. He honestly hasn't done much besides routine maintenance in the last few years, but their bathroom falls into that space between done and much.

Double sinks, shower with a tiled bench and a bathtub actually long enough to fit Dean in, pretty shade of pale green and shiny faucets Cas spent hours debating about ( _Dad,_ Dad _, I am growing mold here, please pick something_ ), it lost them a little room in terms of bedroom and closet but made up for it by being gorgeous. If he was creating a portfolio, he would definitely include pictures of this room.

He finds Cas in the aforementioned tub, eyes closed with his head tilted back, little frown on his face like he was doing math in his head. Dean goes and brushes his teeth first - since being spouses didn't actually negate bad morning breath - and takes a piss and washes his hands before moseying on over to where Cas's head laid and sitting on the floor by the tub. He rubs his thumb over Cas's forehead, drops down to run it along Cas's collarbone.

Cas finally opens his eyes and smiles a little, one of those soft ones he doles out to Dean like they aren't worth everything. "Hello, Dean," he says, still gentle, quiet, like he wants to match the half-setting of the light dimmer and early morning hour.

"You're up early," he says. His thumb wanders up to brush the curve of Cas's cheek, follow it to his jawline. "You ok?"

"I'm fine." He turns his face slightly so he can nuzzle slightly into Dean's hand. "I just woke up and couldn't get back to sleep. A bath sounded like a nice idea."

(Translation: _If I went downstairs I would feel guilty for not doing work, and if I stayed in bed I'd feel guilty for waking you up, and mostly this is going to be a miserable day_. Cas, god love him, was not subtle.)

Dean makes a hmming noise, keeps rubbing his thumb against Cas's cheek. "You mean in the awesome bathtub I installed that you said was extravagant and no one would use. That bathtub."

"Yes, Dean, _that_ bathtub."

"Good thing I'm psychic and installed it anyways then." He taps his thumb. "Duck down and I'll wash your hair."

Cas's eyes are already half closed, but he manages a semblance of protest in his voice when he says, "You need to get ready for work." 

"Won't take that long," Dean argues, which is mostly a lie, but Cas is ducking down so he can get his hair wet, and Dean's picking up the shampoo bottle. He doesn't use a lot, this is more about comfort than cleaning, but he gets a little lather, shifts so he can use both hands.

He spends time just rubbing Cas's scalp, watching for his face to go lax and sink somewhere below achy alertness. He's not quite sure what set this off, has been a little too distracted the past few days to pay as much attention as he should, though to be a little fair to himself (since he knows Cas would say it if asked) sometimes Cas just has bad days. Different from the type Dean have, which is all about his father's voice and every opinion he's trying not to believe is true; Cas had the opposite problem, an absent father and a sister who could only do so much before she fell apart for herself. (He knows Cas doesn't really blame Anna, in the intellectual way where it makes sense for a seventeen year old girl to find someone who would hold _her_ hand, but emotionally... there's a reason Dean is closer to Anna. And he knows it bothers Anna on the other end of the spectrum, because Cas did the same thing, only _his_ younger sisters mostly landed in the hero worship mind frame, and picked up Cas's not always positive feelings, so Anna gets it from all three younger siblings to various degrees.) 

He may be wrong, this could be a work thing (cut funding did not bring out the optimistic sunshine side of his boss Naomi, and some of his co-workers were just terrible human beings in every season), or just the regular humdrum of daily life that wasn't merry rosy 24/7, but he's pretty sure if he checked Cas's cell there would be at least one long phone call or one terrible text history sometime last night from _one_ of his siblings. He wants to beat himself up, because Dean basically came home and fell into bed the last two nights, too tired from working on Mrs.Winter's please-please-I-need-this-now fireplace frame (it was April, Mrs.Winter was two hours away, and he regretted the job before he even signed the contract) to really check in, but he's getting better about realizing that bad timing is not, actually, his fault. 

Still, he can do this. So he rubs Cas's scalp, and is gentle when he rinses off his hair, and ends up spending a little longer than he should just sitting quietly in the slowly lightening room, until he really does need to get ready for work. He doesn't say anything about promising to talk tonight, since that would just have all the anxiety he rubbed out coming back into Cas's body, but he kisses him extra firm before finally getting up to get dressed.


	14. the way to my heart had some stops along the way (Cas, age 62)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas finally eats a fucking casserole. It tastes exactly how he expected it to taste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: character death, grief, oblique mentions to eating disorders/talks a lot about food and reactions to it
> 
> I got a comment about death and then wrote this, but it took a couple of months before I wrote the sappy cleanser chapter to follow so, uh, posting it took awhile. [the [gifset for this verse](http://oranges8hands.tumblr.com/post/157042215438/imagine-emma-at-six-at-nine-at-fifteen-at) was also made months ago.]

To say Dean made burgers well was like saying Michelangelo had a little bit of an artistic talent. (Hael - sitting on their kitchen counter as if to make up for Anna's absence by adopting her annoying habit - telling them _the Sistine Chapel's honestly kind of ugly, my professor keeps showing slides and sure, great talent, but-_ eyes widening five minutes later as she takes the bite of her first Dean burger, three more bites before she can manage to pause long enough to fully chew her food and compliment it with words.) Dean was a literal artist with his wood - Cas heard every single wood/dick joke it was possible to make within their first six months of knowing each other, and then Dean spent thirty years trying to make more, _he's heard it_ \- but his burgers were pockets of perfection, and Cas didn't even originally like burgers all that much.

Dean was, actually, a good cook in general. A wide variety of mac and cheese dishes perfected in his early teens that Cas mostly banned after his father's heart attack, years of Saturday breakfasts that sometimes grew into elaborate productions for a cast of loved ones, the range of flavors for everyday dinners that meant even having chicken breasts for the third time that week didn't make his taste buds die from boredom. Cas could cook, adequately, with a few specialized dishes, like the majority of people in his life. He didn't love making food, not enough to do more than sit in the same room reading articles as Dean watched the tenth edition of the same cooking show. He honestly didn't even love eating food, not in general, not in the way his friends and family thought he should; the closest anyone came was Uriel, who was married to a chef and agreed you could only enthuse about the potato so many times until you wanted to reenact the famine, no matter how deliciously it was made each of those times.

Of course, not everyone thought Dean's _burgers_ were the best thing he could make. Pies - _the first great love of my life_ , Dean would say, smacking a kiss on Cas's cheek and then doubling over in laughter at whatever face Cas couldn't help but make each time - were considered holiday staples, and Cas would agree delicious, if slightly overrated to the almost disturbingly graphic descriptions Dean gave them. He actually won first place in a cornbread competition when he was seventeen, one of those facts he liked to use on the unsuspecting during two truths and a lie games in his younger years. He beat Victor in a neighborhood chili cook-off, though that had less to do with his skills and more to do with the fact Victor misunderstood things like seasoning ratios and the kind of items people expected in chili (for the record: not pears.) Anna would gratefully declare whatever current item she was eating as the best thing he ever made; Hannah was never the biggest fan of any of it. 

Currently, Cas is staring at a mostly empty fridge. It is dinner time, and Cas realized rather abruptly the last thing he ate was some dried cereal last night.

Currently, it is sixteen days later, and the only home-made items still in this kitchen are the freezer full of casseroles people brought by.

Currently, Cas is realizing he will never actually taste Dean's cooking again.  
                                                                                        ______

Three days later Cas is sitting at their kitchen table, waning light illuminating just enough to highlight the disheveled state of both his person and the house. There are newspapers stacked on it, because Cas always enjoyed the process of actual paper between his fingerprints when he was reading about the ways of the world. Dean, while talking like a modern-day Luddite when he wasn't perfecting 'crotchety old man', preferred his news online, and only after a long battle towards compromise stopped bugging Cas about entering the modern age. 

("Wear your goddamn glasses, Cas," he'd say. Sometimes he'd swipe whatever section Cas was going through and wack him on his shoulder. Rarely, he'd fetch the extra pair he made Cas keep in the kitchen and gently place them on Cas's face, waiting until he smiled to kiss the corner of his mouth. Usually he'd grab them and drop the case in front of Cas, complaining because they went through all the effort to get another pair for him to keep in the kitchen so he would use them, so goddamn use them.)  


So now the newspapers stack up on their kitchen table (it is still _their_ kitchen table if only half of them will ever use it again?) because Cas cares just enough to not leave them on the driveway, across from which where Mrs.Klein lives and has Emma's phone number in case of emergencies. He hasn't taken all of them out of the plastic wrap yet, and so he pushes the plate he just warmed up away from himself and starts to systematically divest the newspapers of their covering. It's easy, from there, to start going through them - setting aside several for more careful reading, tossing the sports section immediately into the trash pile, debating about getting a pen so he could go through the current crop of coupons.

It kills three hours of his time, and by the time he finishes hauling the stuffed bag into the trash can, it's technically late enough to go to bed, plate carefully tucked back into the fridge.   
                                                                                        ______

Cas's favorite dish was actually soup. He wasn't picky about what kind, though if pressed he may say French onion, but he just liked soup. There was something like home to the taste of it, swallowing warmth carefully and lovingly prepared. 

Cas got sick, just a few weeks after they had met each other for the first time, and he can still remember Dean's nervous fluttering as he stood on his doorstep, the way he blushed and ducked away after preparing the bowl for Cas, the quiet mention of tomato and rice being something he learned from his mom. He cleaned the bowl when Cas was finished, tucked the rest of the pot he brought into his fridge. Said, and maybe this was when Cas fell in love with him, voice gentle and smile soft, fond, said, _Call me if you need anything else. I'd like to help._

Emma's favorite soup was his vegetable medley. It was tomato based, the only other one he made with that stock, and often used whatever vegetables Cas was growing. _The best of both worlds_ , Emma told him once, crunching on one of the slightly gnarled carrots Cas had just pulled up. It was light enough Dean would make it before the really cold weather hit, usually the first soup he made as summer transitioned into Fall.

Cas didn't make soup. For the most part Dean would freeze some from the first few pots he would make, and during winter and the creeping spring Cas would warm them up when the desire for soup hit and Dean couldn't spend time preparing some. Emma knew the basics, but got bored during the process and didn't tend to make it. Claire, actually, picked up a few tricks from Dean, and arguably made better chicken noodle than him.

Outside of Dean there was Kim, who liked cold soups and taught Hannah a surprising array, and Mr. Yu, who could deliver egg drop soup in Cas's hands twenty minutes after he made the order. There was an Italian restaurant five minutes away that made a delicious Tuscan white bean, but they closed down three years ago. And there was always canned, because that's what Cas used to eat, when he was a kid, even if the sodium count always seemed ridiculously high.                                                                                     

                                                                                       ______

Emma drops by for lunch.

It's not unusual by any means; between clients and deadlines and workloads, schedules varied. The shop had a couch, mini-fridge, and microwave, but they also only lived seven minutes away and Dean was much better with full access to a kitchen. There were days when Cas didn't need to be on campus and Dean dropped by so they'd have at least a little more time alone together. There were slightly more recent days when Emma dropped off Mia and liked to check in during lunchtime. There was even one memorable time they used their lunch break to decorate for a surprise birthday dinner, their faces horribly shocked when he came in while they were arguing about sign placement because his meeting was canceled last minute. Or the time they were even more shocked when another meeting was cancelled and he decided to use the extra time between classes to come home, and he found the love of his life and their beautiful daughter (who, at eight, was supposed to be in _school_ ) eating a massive amount of junk food while watching a Lord of the Rings marathon.

"Hey Dad," she says, and he knows he sounds the same, that defeat evident in their voices and movements. She hugs him a little tighter than usual and he doesn't let go a little longer than usual. 

His daughter looks like his husband, like she got pieces of his face at least, and its not a surprise and its not like it hurts - he's watched Emma grow into that face all her life - but it does hit him, unexpectedly, the little flashes. Emma is like him in a lot of ways, but that's nothing to how much she is like Dean, and the pride (the joy) of that fact has not lessened but _Jesus Christ_ , he misses Dean.

He knows lunch is just shorthand for seeing him during the day, possibly even seeing him without warning so she could get a better idea of how he was doing outside of the moments she saw him, but he still walks over to the fridge and debates for a moment on what he can provide, thinks maybe he would have had better luck checking the pantry. He feels her hover by him, tall enough to see over his shoulder and check out the many leftover takeout containers inside. She brushes by him and opens the freezer, lifts her hand in a careless _might as well_ gesture to the stack of dishes piled in there. 

He and Emma have always been good at comfortable silence, and he nukes them little square containers of the casserole Jody brought twenty days ago in one. The writing is in Jody's hand, short and spiky and not at all like the cheerful loops Donna writes in, and that fits too. The casserole is cut into squares already, because Jody - and Cas abruptly remembers this - has been in his position, years before he knew her, and probably realized he'd freeze it, that he wouldn't want to warm the whole dish at once. It's the little details Cas can only now pick out, that suggest this isn't just a casserole but prepared for this in mind. She didn't write out the ingredients, but he doesn't have any allergies and outside of nutrition was never very picky about what he ate.  

He hasn't eaten a lot of Jody's food, or Donna's, but he knows Dean had a fondness for her dinners and Cas always took extra of the potato salad she tended to bring to potlucks. (Donna always brought brownies, and once fudge  - after the time Dean failed horribly at it, and _everyone_ brought fudge - so he assumes Jody made the actual casserole, but he's not completely sure. Also, he should probably bring their dish back, even though both of them wouldn't blink if he kept it.)

Emma fiddles with her fork for a bit, but before he can say anything she takes a bite, and he follows suit. It's an artichoke and chicken one, and he honestly can't remember the last time he ate artichokes, if only because vegetables were never the center dish a meal was prepared around in their household and he always associated artichokes as their own self-contained meal. After awhile, Emma starts to talk about Mia, updating Cas on her last few days of school, telling him about the field trip she was going to chaperon in a few weeks. He holds his water glass in hand as Emma painstakingly makes it through the majority of the plate, an old trick from her teen years to make her feel less rushed, and he thinks she's using the discussion about her daughter to keep herself on track. He debates asking, but bringing extra attention to it never did any good, and he'd rather oh-so-casually ask Claire than make it any more difficult for Emma. 

Emma leans against the counter as Cas washes the plates, and hugs him just a little tighter than usual again before she leaves. Cas slowly goes through the leftovers in the fridge, tosses the majority of them out. He grabs the pad that still has Dean's half-written grocery list and writes down a few items he half remembers as being on sale this week, the kind of stuff Cas made when it was his (somewhat) rare turn to cook. He remembers the brand of prepared meals Naomi used to bring to work and writes that down too before setting the pad aside.

And then, exhausted, he rests his head against the kitchen table and tries very hard not to throw up. 


	15. Newton's got nothing on this [part c] (Emma, age 13)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas has a bad day at work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part 3 of the "5 moments of non-sexual intimacy between Dean and Cas" section
> 
> you can thank hhopp's comment for getting me off my butt to actually write another chapter, even if it is tiny

By the time Cas gets home he's calmed down enough that growing into a giant so he can literally squish his co-workers between his fingers has been downgraded from imminent to "43% chance, as long as no one makes any sudden moves." He does not slam his car door and he does not slam his house door, and by the time he's hung up his coat - Cas could be dying from a gunshot wound, _you hang up your coat_ \- and come across his husband and daughter grunting in displeasure at the television, the anger making its slow slide to misery tips over enough that he just keeps walking. He goes into their bedroom and pauses in the doorway, because he should go to his office nook and start on the frankly ridiculous feats of academia he must accomplish by Thursday night, but the amount of effort involved in just the idea of taking out his papers and laptop has exhaustion nipping at his heels.

He undresses and takes a shower instead, pushing his face into the spray and trying to focus all his energy in just feeling the droplets. The class he was promised he wouldn't have to teach this semester that he was just assigned to, the extra committee Naomi talked him into joining (well, emotionally manipulated into joining, but you say tomato and he says... also tomato, that saying makes no sense, and he knows she is doing it even as she is doing it - just as he knows it will actually help his career and past the politician persona she really does care about his future - but that doesn't change the fact he just added at least seventeen more hours into his work week because she can browbeat better than even his father), the fact Jeremy is so bad at his job Cas can already feel the three student breakdowns he will have to talk down and yet is still teaching... he takes all of that, packs it into a mental box, and tells it _later_. Instead he focuses on the pressure of the water, the soap as he rubs it up his arms, the feel of cool tile under his feet. Focuses on the physical, and tells his brain to just stop, to just let him have this moment to reset.

By the time he turns off the water - he pretends to feel guilty for a moment about the waste of water, but Cas has been taking too long showers since he was a child and apparently neither water bills and environmental concerns will ever make a dent in that habit - he feels more focused, annoyed and tired still but not overwhelmed, not angry like he hated to be. His hand goes to grab the towel and its only when his fingers close over nothing that he glances over, feels the jolt of surprise when he sees Dean leaning against the sink counter, towel hanging off his finger. There's lust, of course, but it is the fondness in Dean's face, the tilt of his lips and crinkles by his eyes that warms Cas. He smiles at Dean, helpless not to, and waits impatiently as Dean comes closer to wrap the towel around him.

It's warm, warmer than it should be, and the question is on the tip of Cas's tongue when he just forgoes drying himself so he can sooner step into the warmth of Dean's presence. He sags into them when Dean takes the hint and wraps his arms around Cas, knows he's getting Dean's pajamas wet and doesn't care, just turns his head into Dean's neck and breathes deeply. The class, the committee, the co-worker who offends Cas on an academic and moral level, they all release their tight grip on him as he lets Dean hold his weight, run his hand soothingly up and down his spine.

"Long day?" Dean finally asks, more as a starting point for conversation than because the answer isn't obvious in the way Cas is still clinging to him. Dean's hand moves to his neck, starts to gentle rub the top of his spine.

"Terrible," Cas says, and leans back slowly enough not to dislodge Dean's fingers. Just enough so he can see Dean's eyes, let Dean see the truth in his face, the list of problems not gone but somehow manageable again in his head. "But I have high hopes for the rest of it."

Dean nods. "Well, dinner's ready. Come tell us about it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> romantic tip for the day: put your partner's towel (or bathrobe) in the dryer when they shower so it's toasty warm when they get out. idea brought to you from an episode of _Queer Eye for the Straight Guy_ , which has apparently stuck around in my head for 10+ years. (IIRC this also doubles as the _only_ good romantic tip they had too.)


	16. there's only so much silence a home can take (various ages)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Living with other people can be good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wrote this while in the packing stage of moving, cause for the first time I will be living alone, which is SUPER exciting and like, one of my life goals, but there are some things I will miss about living with other people: 
> 
> [3 "sentence" style because at the time I wrote the majority of this I was moving in a week and had packed three boxes so far]

**i. medicine delivery**

Dean is perhaps not as gentle as he should be when he pushes Cas back into bed, tucking the extra blanket around him and frowning, but this is the fifth time Cas has tried to get up for non-bathroom related reasons and playing corral-the-sick-husband was not a fun game.

Dean points to the tray on the night stand. "Your mint tea, your herbal tea because you couldn't decide, a glass of water, pills and cold medicine, your book from downstairs, and your glasses. I called Naomi and explained your absence. You've emailed your T.A.s' their work. You can get your laptop and cell back in two hours. Take a nap. Read your book. Do _not_ get up unless your bladder is gonna burst."

"You're not the boss of me," Cas says, _like he's five_ , and is asleep three minutes later. 

 

**ii. mice are not pets, they are snake food**

Dean is stirring the pot when he hears a loud yelp and then Josephine's voice yelling, "Mr. W!" and Emma's just as loudly calling, "Dad!"

He drops the wooden spoon and races into the living room, where the girls are standing in the corner, Josephine holding up her math book and Emma with the fireplace poker. "What?" he says, glancing around; their bags are by the table and he can see the various crap (papers, books, bag of chips they shouldn't be eating so close to dinner) that surrounded the area where they were sitting while they did their homework, but everything else looks fine. "What is it?"

"We just saw a big ass rat run under the TV unit," Josephine says, and Dean can feel the blood drain out of his head. _Fuck_.

 

**iii. um murderers (sorry, I mean "loud noises")**

She shouldn't have watched the movie, ok, she admits it, but her Dads were both jam packed with work and she kept the volume on low and Josephine saw it with her older cousins and also are they allowed to show that much blood at 8 o'clock, really aren't there supposed to be family guidelines or something?

The thing is there was a very long hallway between her and her dads' room, and the bathroom door (opened a crack, just enough to see the shower curtain was closed) and the closet door (sure, it should have shelves too stuffed with items to hide a body, but maybe that's just what they want her to think) were between them, and Emma is way too old to be freaked out about the lack of night lights (someone could trip and die! why was her Dad not worried about that!), but also...

Emma pulled the blankets over her head. The main problem is before her Dads’ room, and the bathroom and closet door, and the entrance into the hallway, was that really weird shadow beside her huge dresser, the one that had just enough space between it and the wall to hide Mr. Saw-n-Chains.

She was going to _die_.

 

**iv. exhausted bones**

Dean cooks 90% of the time. Mostly because he's (way) better at it than Cas, partly because he likes it (and boy did that take awhile for him to admit to), somewhat because he's used to it, and a little bit because he loathes grocery shopping and this seemed like a more than fair exchange of chores with Cas. He likes the routine of it, Emma usually doing homework on the kitchen table while he preps, Cas coming up behind him to lean over and watch his hands work. He was providing for his family, tangible, necessary things that they could enjoy, and Dean liked _that_ even more than just the relaxation of cooking.

But as he's been discovering over the years (and Cas's various insistence into healthy food, non-gluten food, the three weeks of vegetarianism because Hael was his least favorite of Cas's sisters, and that semester Cas was doing his absolute best to avoid writing his second book and insisted on taking over any and all chores in one of the saddest versions of procrastination Dean has ever seen), liking cooking and coming up with a healthy/cheap/different dinner plan every night for _years_ were sometimes two very, very different things. 

He checks the clock on the stove, feels the echoing weight from the frankly ridiculous amount of lifting he's had to do today, and calls Cas.

"You're in charge of picking up dinner tonight."

 

**v. can you believe this shit?**

"Michael has not fired him yet," Cas says, setting aside his work bag and crossing into the kitchen to grab a glass of water when he gets home that night. "I'll help you with History in a minute, Emma, I just need to write up my notes about his actions."

"And then I had to spend an hour calming her down," Cas says, stabbing his steak a little too hard at dinner. "She's devastated; all her work wiped out, and it's too late to restart this semester, so she's really losing twelve weeks of work."

"He told me it was 'no biggie'," Cas says, changing out of his day clothes and into his sleep shirt and sweats for bed, the finger quotes obvious even without the accompanying hand gestures. "Like it didn't matter at all."

"He is a prick," Cas says, voice like an announcement on a mountain top, curse word slightly unfamiliar in his mouth. Dean very carefully does not groan into his pillow where two seconds ago he was almost asleep. "He is an absolute prick."

 

**vi. you scratch my back, I scratch yours**

Emma had lice, which was one of those normal kid things Dean half-remembered from his own childhood and definitely remembered from Sam's, like the chickenpox or the idiot who introduces your child to sugar for the first time. (Though, in Sam's case, _he_ was that idiot. In his defense he was also eight and didn't have trouble with the resulting sugar high, having one of his own at the time, but yep, his fault.)

Still, Dean thought, stuffing Emma's pillowcase into the washing machine, trying to ignore the itch between his shoulder blades, this was definitely one of the less fun sides of parenting, like nightmares and bruises. (At least his kid wears a helmet, and _Jesus_ he owes Mary an apology.)

Cas comes in with her towels, probably stuffing the washing machine a little too much but frankly he was foreseeing a lot of laundry in his immediate future and couldn't be assed to care at the moment about one possibly-too-large load. He nudges Cas with his shoulder, presenting his back as he pours out the liquid soap, and Cas scratches with fingernails that should maybe be cut soon. 

 

**vii. the tall bastards club**

Dean owns _five_ ladders. One in his house, two at work, one at Gordon's (who borrowed it a million years ago, and will be giving it back probably around the same time Dean returns Gordon’s mom's ceramic pie plate, so never), and one that tended to float around between friends, who had a much better return rate than Gordon and didn't see any reason to have their own. But _five_ ladders, count them, and at least seven people he could borrow one from if all of his magically disappeared. 

So why the hell Cas was standing on the kitchen chair (and of course he managed to grab the one Dean hadn't fixed yet, because there were three perfectly good chairs they could use for dinner _for their family of three_ , sue Dean for prioritizing it low, but Heaven forbid Cas use one of those), frowning up at the ceiling, was beyond him.

"Hey, so how many angels does it take to screw in a light bulb?" Dean asks, pulling Cas down from the chair, smiling his best shit-eating grin when Cas turns his scowl on him.

 

**viii. dancy party**

"You don't have to go oh oh oh oh oh,” Dean sings, Emma’s feeding spoon in hand like an imaginary microphone, “you don't have to goooo."

Emma does the drum solo against her high chair table.

Cas is already grinning as they both sing (wildly out of tune from each other and the song) "Ay ay ay ay ay ay."

 

**ix. my back doesn’t bend that way**

By the time Cas comes upstairs, Dean is already laid out on the bed, jeans off and boxers pulled below the curve of his ass, head planted into the pillow. Cas straddles his upper thighs, tweezer in hand.

“So how did you get a splinter in your ass?” Cas asks, and Dean should probably give credit to Cas for managing to get that sentence out with a mostly even voice, but there was a ten-minute laughter spree in the kitchen so fuck him.

Like he fucking knew his jeans had a hole in the ass when he sat on the chair before sanding it.

 

**x. skin hunger is a legitimate issue**

“So how much longer is this?” Dean asks, running his fingers lightly up and down Cas’s neck as he leans into Dean on the couch. He wishes he’d grabbed popcorn or something before they started; salt and butter could only distract so much from people in puffy outfits spouting bad poetry, but better than nothing.

Emma snorts, tilting her head back from where she’s sitting on the floor in front of them, using Dean’s calves as a backrest. “It literally just started, Dad.”

“It is one movie, Dean, while you made me sit through three Star Battles. Be quiet.”

“Oh my _God_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song re viii: "D'yer Mak'er" by Led Zeppelin. your choice of Cas’s misname re x being Star Wars or Star Trek.


End file.
